


One Step

by thirdtimecharmed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:57:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdtimecharmed/pseuds/thirdtimecharmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he stands on the roof of St. Bart's, Sherlock has to push himself over the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small thing I built off of a very specific idea. Thought I'd share.

Out of all the complex actions and reactions it took to keep a body functioning, somehow dying was the hardest. Even for one such as he, who considered himself far above the daily mental plod of human existence, it was impossible to begin the sequence of events that would send his body plummeting (9.8 meters per second squared) towards the unforgiving pavement below. Of course, it’s never the fall that kills, and it wasn’t the fall he was worried about- it was the landing. Bones splintering, blood vessels shredding, the traumatic signs of death he’s seen a million times spread before him will soon spread themselves out over his own body.

He can’t make himself do it, and things only get worse as the cab pulls up and his best (not only) friend jumps out. John is smart so of course John realized instantly that he never should have left. Sherlock thinks he never should have come. Army doctor John Hamish Watson, his friend, helper, flatmate; the man who punched a police chief and ran handcuffed through the streets to stay with him. There will be another bullet in John soon if Sherlock doesn’t jump.

The phone call is a foolish idea, and yet he needs it. People leave notes for a reason, he realizes only now, and it seems that despite it all, he is still human. However, his brand of closure is at least unique (Sherlock Holmes: the only man to ever lie in his suicide note). It would all be easier if John could believe him; if John could hate him, Sherlock would be able to stand dying in front of him. He doesn’t even notice as a single tear drops down his face. John is too far away to see.

Even so, telling John to look was a mistake. He can see the man’s face staring upwards, even from high up and far away. John’s pleadings and reassurances fall on mercifully deaf ears. John doesn’t know he is pleading for his own death. John cannot be allowed to die for Sherlock. He tried before. Sherlock is selfish. He does not want to be the one who has to live without.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t know why he stretched his hand out; it is a hopeless distance to cover. Even his voice is not strong enough to ring out across the chasm, and the web of instances and reactions has never been drawn tighter around them. John’s presence has doomed him, but it has also saved him.

The lies he is so proficient at telling have never served him better. It’s just a step towards John, he tells himself, bracing for the gut swooping fall and the crunch at the end. He’s taken that step million times, at crime scenes looking for a sounding board for ideas, in the flat out for a mug of tea or a cigarette, on walks and chases around London. He focuses completely on the small blurry figure on the phone. He chokes out a last goodbye. He steps, and Sherlock Holmes takes his final fall.


End file.
